


hunter instinct

by dangerousaudino



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Chance Meetings, Dysfunctional Family, Existential Angst, F/F, POV Second Person, Takes place long before the game begins, ace lesbian artemis lets gooooo, artemis the ball of anxiety and nyx the greek pantheon's most eligible MILF, tw harm to animals (via hunting)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousaudino/pseuds/dangerousaudino
Summary: Artemis and Nyx have a chance meeting in the forest.
Relationships: Artemis/Nyx (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	hunter instinct

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: animal harm (via hunting)

You feel the forest change.

The night air is still. The sky is cloudless and the full moon hangs bright above you as Selene journeys across the sky. You can hear every rustle of the trees in your ears, every light footstep of the smallest game, the restful breathing of sleeping animals. The forest bends to your will when you hunt. You know it -- feel it -- like a second skin.

But something is off, and you don’t know what.

You kneel, examining fresh deer tracks in the dirt. You can barely see small drops of blood from the injury it had sustained earlier, when it had somehow noticed you hiding in the bushes and instantly turned and fled, your arrow missing its mark and barely grazing its side. You don’t feel inconvenienced by the incident, but now that you feel the strange shift in the forest, you find yourself more _disturbed_ instead. You expect animals to run. They’re crafty creatures, built to survive, but you wonder vaguely if something else has been lurking around to create such a violent, panicked reaction. A wolf, perhaps? Or maybe another god has sent down some evil creature to curse the mortals and the thing’s gotten loose in your forest instead, and now you’re just here to clean up the mess conveniently. But the forest would have come to life in a panic, and you would have known instantly what it is. 

You stand and, bow readied in your hand, carefully follow the tracks through the winding forest. You can see the stag has created a trail of semi-destruction in its wake, of small plants trampled underfoot in its haste and twigs and branches snapped in half. 

Good. That makes your job easier.

The forest is easy to traverse. You’ve done it hundreds of thousands of times since you were born, as many times as you could wrangle yourself away from Olympus and all the general idiocy that place entails. Demeter and Kore had gotten into yet another spat, something about Kore feeling suffocated, and you can’t say that she isn’t right. After all, here you are, millions of miles away from your family deep in the heart of the forest. The frigid atmosphere from their very public argument -- both literal and emotional -- had given you and most of the other younger Olympians cause to leave the mountain while your aunts and uncles and father attempted to clean up that circus.

Not that you ever really needed a reason, of course. The only people who could track you down were your own brothers Apollo and Hermes, and somehow Aphrodite (though you’re sure she’s bribed Hermes to tell her where you go, since she can’t possibly look away from her own reflection long enough to find out herself). You could slip away so easily that nobody would realize you’re gone for over a week until Apollo comes looking for you for some inane reason, such as asking if you think this or that mortal is worthy of pursuing. (“No, Apollo, you’ll just turn them into a flower or animal again. Leave them be.”)

You glance up at the sky, noting Selene’s position: it must be around midnight. If you squint hard enough, you can see her in her chariot, drawn by two pristinely white, winged steeds, mirroring Helios’ own. 

You remember when you had first met her, some time long ago after Father had whisked you and Apollo to Olympus to begin your duties as full-fledged gods. You had taken to Selene immediately, like a moth to a flame, tall and regal and beautiful in a way that only Titans seemed to be (as far as you knew from your limited interactions with any of the non-piecemeal ones, anyway). Sure, you Olympians were also rather “gigantic and beautiful” — as Aphrodite would say, when you bother to listen to her drivel — but there was something more about Selene, the way she and Helios carried themselves so unlike the Olympians, the soft glowing eyes, her broad shoulders, a disarmingly charming smile —

Or maybe you just had a bit of… affection for her. 

_Ugh._ If you ever tell anyone that, you may as well have your father throw you down to Tartarus to toil away in Uncle Hades’ offices for the rest of eternity.

You glance at the trail before you. The stag’s path has become more erratic, as if panicked by your presence, taking a rather winding way towards a small spring you vaguely remember visiting once with your hunters. You expected a long hunt, but this is getting rather ridiculous for a single deer.

But you follow it anyway.

The spring is close by, the sound of running water a welcome one amidst the eerie silence of the forest. Best of all, you can hear the heartbeat of the stag close by, a pounding in your ears that grows louder the closer you approach, crouched and hidden in the bushes. When you carefully and quietly part the leaves, you can see the stag, where the moonlight reflects off the water and catches in its eyes as it drinks with its head bent low. Now that you can see its face, you note with some pride that it has rather beautiful antlers. 

The forest behind it is dark and foreboding, shadows almost enveloping the stag as you squint from your hiding place. Hermes had mentioned something about an entrance to the Underworld being located deep in your forest, but you had never bothered to look for it. You don’t need to, given that you like to avoid the Underworld gods as much as possible. You believe Hermes, though, because when you sniff the air you can almost _smell_ the death emanating from the Underworld, like rotting bloated corpses abandoned on a battlefield. 

The darkness shifts behind the stag, but you think it’s just your eyes adjusting to this new part of the forest. Carefully, you pull an arrow out of your quiver and nock it, pulling the bowstring back to aim at the stag’s heart as it drinks. It doesn’t lift its head. You can do it.

So you let it fly -- and the darkness behind it contorts.

You see the arrow disappear mid-air, as if devoured by the shadows emanating from the forest closest to the spring. And then there’s a snap and the stag, frightened by the sudden noise, dashes off hurriedly as the darkness unfurls like a sheet in the wind to reveal a pale woman, looking very mildly displeased as she holds your broken arrow in her outstretched fist.

The woman is towering and breathtakingly _beautiful_ , haloed by the full moon hanging in the sky above. She wears a dark dress of purple and black and gold, a golden crown regally placed atop her head and golden skull jewelry adorning her neck and fingers. When she turns her head to look directly at you in your hiding spot, you see golden eyes that bore into you like arrows to the heart, cold and unflinching as she tilts her head curiously and turns to fully face you. Her flowing black hair nearly reaches the ground, and when you squint, you also realize you can see the stars in her hair, amidst the darkness that begins to bend towards her like a shroud.

Oh no.

Oh _Fates_ you’ve fucked up. 

“Little huntress,” the goddess says flatly, without any of the mockery or infantilization that normally underlies that nickname. Her voice sends a chill down your spine, echoing in your ears and reverberating in your ribcage. It’s distinctly familiar, as if you’ve heard it before in your deepest dreams -- even though you know you’ve never talked to her in your life. It’s almost like a lullaby to you. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You burst out of the bushes and scramble to your feet as fast as you can, embarrassed and probably half-sobbing when you respond: “Lady Nyx, I — my apologies, I didn’t mean to — oh Fates I nearly shot you -- “

She raises an eyebrow, but her face remains strangely blank for someone who nearly just got shot in the ass. She primly drops the broken arrow to the ground. “You could not have seen me amidst the darkness. Rather, I should apologize to you instead.”

“I -- well, it wasn’t that dark, I can see perfectly well in the nighttime, so there’s no excuse -- ” You’re stammering over yourself now. You’re an absolute disgrace to Olympus, a stain on your bloodline (not that it’s great in the first place), oh dear gods you’re going to get chained up in Tartarus for causing a literal _war_ with the primordial goddess of the night of all the gods, why couldn’t you have shot out Uncle Poseidon’s eye instead -- 

“I cloak myself in darkness so that I may travel uninhibited on the surface world,” Nyx explains, unsettlingly calm despite your almost-grovelling. You realize now that her voice reminds you of Selene’s, but much more deep -- flowing with ancient power far beyond anything you’ve ever felt from all the other gods you knew: a flat cold affect, but tinged with an imperious quality that both unsettles and comforts you deeply. “You have done no harm. Very few can sense me when I am hidden. I believe I’ve interfered with your hunt, and therefore I apologize. I did not see you until the last moment. I had wondered why the stag was injured and stooped to examine its wound.”

The way she says it, it almost sounds like the matter is done, like your father giving you a _strong suggestion_ that’s actually just a coded order. You blink, unsure of how to proceed as you hold your bow down at your side like a cowed child.

Nyx blinks back at you, as if confused by your reaction. “Lady Artemis, do not feel guilty. The matter is done, I am uninjured, you will not be punished for anything as far as I can prevent it. Nobody but us shall know of this.”

“I… yeah. Thank you, Lady Nyx, for your generosity.” The words flow awkwardly out of your mouth, stiff formality mixed with the typical common talk you’ve come to know from the huntresses that join you. Hera regularly throws fits about how disrespectful you can be, even when you don’t intend it, but what did she expect? You can’t just charm your way out of everything like your brother. You rub the back of your neck. “I’m -- okay. Well then. What brings you to the surface? Anything I can help with, in way of apology?”

She regards you casually, slowly giving you a once-over as if… measuring you? For what? You’re just being anxious now, probably. You’ve heard stories of her wrath -- measured and brutal strategy mixed with ancient primordial powers that even your father would quake at (and likely has, if Uncle Poseidon’s “stories” have an ounce of truth to them). She could easily devour you in a single bite, especially given that Nyx is likely four heads taller than you, if not more. “I had business to attend to with my daughter, Lady Hemera. Perhaps you both have met before?”

You have to think for a moment. “Uh, well? A few times. Never for more than a few moments in passing.” 

“Ah.” Nyx nods. “I understand, you may not have the time to do so and I doubt you like to spend much time around the other gods. I have heard from Lord Hades that you strongly dislike being on Olympus?”

Anyone could have guessed that pretty easily, honestly, but you still feel like you’ve been caught with your hand in the honey pot. You shift from foot to foot, antsy with guilt. “I -- well, yes, but no, I _do_ but -- “

The corners of Nyx’s mouth twitch, as if she’s suppressing a smile. You’re making a damned fool of yourself. If Apollo could see you now, he’d never let you live it down. “I can see you plainly, Lady Artemis. After all, you were not born to be bound to gilded palaces and godly politics. Not everyone is.”

“Ah?”

“Yes. _Ah_.” She crooks a finger at you, beckoning you over to her. And for some reason you find yourself drifting over to her like a puppet on a string but maybe just a tad bit more eager and willing. Nyx watches you approach with a blank expression, so reminiscent of Selene and Helios that you wonder if they’re related. They must be. Night and the moon and sun? It’s almost perfect, despite the gods’ chaotic family tree.

The spring water is crystal clear, so much so that you can see the rocks at the bottom despite the limited lighting of the moon. The forest is still eerily quiet, but -- maybe now you know why. You try to avoid eye contact with her. 

“I have never encountered you this close to the Underworld’s doorstep,” Nyx remarks casually, glancing sidelong at you. “Yet I’ve sensed you in this forest often under the cover of night.”

“I, uh.” You stare blankly at your reflection in the spring -- and at Nyx’s, who stares at you unblinkingly like you’re the most intriguing thing in the world. You feel unnerved being just two feet away from her, like you’re slowly being drawn into her orbit. (But honestly, you don’t know if you’d mind that much.) “Uh.”

“Hm?”

“I uh… the wild game don’t come here.” You make something up on the spot -- you don’t know why you’ve never come to this part of the forest specifically. Maybe it’s the stench of death. Maybe you just never venture deep enough. “Poor hunting grounds.”

“Sensible. Few creatures would dare venture close to the shores of the Styx.” Nyx seems satisfied enough with your answer as she peers into the rippling spring water, then back at you. “Yet here you are.”

Yes. Here you are. 

She pauses, as if waiting for you to respond. When you instead distract yourself by admiring the dirt at your feet, she continues on: “If I were not so occupied with Underworld matters, I would explore the surface world more. To visit my other children, surely, and to speak to you Olympians. There is much we can learn from each other.”

You nod, maybe a bit too eagerly as you stare not exactly at Nyx’s face, but at a constellation in her long flowing hair by her neck -- of the Nemean Lion rearing up on its back legs, slain by Heracles centuries ago. “Of course.”

“The world is changing rapidly,” Nyx muses, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger. “Every time I return, there are more stars. More gods. More mortals. A neverending stream of souls into the Underworld. Even this forest I no longer recognize, despite its proximity to the Underworld’s doorway.”

You watch her closely, but her expression remains blank as she gazes up at the night sky. The glow of moonlight illuminates her eyes, muted gold like distant stars. “Do you… miss the freedom? Of coming up here whenever you want. I’m sure Lord Hades keeps you busier than ever.”

“There is always much to be done,” she tells you. “Even in the days before he came to power, I could only rarely visit the surface. Even then, it would even more rarely be for pleasure. But I am satisfied in our partnership’s efficiency.”

If only the Olympians could say the same.

“But... are you happy?”

Nyx gives you a strange look out of the corner of her eye, as if at a child’s inane question. You balk. “It is certainly not a matter of happiness, Lady Artemis, but duty. Your duty belies freedom, does it not? You roam the forests at your leisure with your huntresses, with your work as an Olympian almost secondary. Tell me, are _you_ happy?”

You could be happier. You could roam with your huntresses to the ends of the earth, but you were always chained to Olympus -- to be pulled back at a moment’s notice, dragged by _duty_ through the dirt and back into the maze of political maneuvering and the ever-present threat of feuds and wars, into gilded halls of suffocating expectation and meaningless talks of peace. If Nyx could partner with your ass of an uncle instead of starting a power struggle, she could likely do anything. “I… yes. I’m satisfied.”

She hums, sounding almost amused. “Satisfaction and happiness are not quite the same.”

“I could be… happier.” The admission feels almost foreign on your tongue. “My lot is much better than most others’, I’m sure.”

“You do not like Olympus?”

Reflexively you glance around, as if looking for an eavesdropper -- Selene probably can’t hear you from the sky, unless she senses Nyx’s presence on the surface world. “It… strange. Feels strange. To be there. Uncomfortable. I don’t like the... councils. Everyone is on high alert constantly, like someone’s about to set off another cataclysm by being a bit too stupid or snarky.”

Nyx considers this for a moment, before turning her full gaze on you once more with a curious intensity. You suddenly feel like you’re wilting, shadows prying at the edges of your vision like the gentle embrace of sleep as she stares down at you with that blank, imperious look. Her mouth barely moves as she speaks, but her voice is sonorous down to your very core. “Olympus and the House of Hades were built with blood and violence. We are drawn to it, to its continuation through those means, until our world ends -- our very nature as gods cause us to be destructive to ourselves and everything around us.”

This is certainly not the conversation you want to have with her. “Uh -- “

“I am not surprised you may feel this way -- many of the younger gods, such as yourself, sense this. We elder gods were born and grew up building the world’s foundations, but we are not perfect. You may gaze through the cracks as long as you like -- it is both a memory and a mirror of this godly cycle.”

You feel like you should know this -- this sounds something like a lecture you nodded along to by one of the Muses (or Athena), something about the cycles of the gods and mortals. Or was it Psyche? You can’t remember. You know you didn’t listen to them at all.

Nyx pauses, stiffly turning her gaze away from you to glance up at the moon again. To your relief, the darkness clawing at the edges of your vision draw away. It must be two in the morning at latest, but you continue to watch the elder goddess' face rather than Selene’s chariot travelling across the sky. “However, I suppose you are dealing with this in a less destructive way by hiding away. Whether on purpose or no, I am not sure.”

You perk up immediately, to the amused, almost microscopic twitch of Nyx’s lips. You’re not actually sure if this is a compliment, but you’ll take it. “The wild is bountiful. It’s quiet, there’s so much to do and see, and you’re not barraged by -- you know -- people being asses like on Olympus.”

“If you were to encounter such an… ass… what would you do?”

You don’t even need to think about it. “Hide behind a tree.”

Nyx titters -- a staccato, almost musical, strange sound, as if she's imitating a broken flute or perhaps choking on a fly. It's a bit endearing, anyway, something imperfect coming from someone who may as well be called the best of the gods. “Then I must explore the forest more often. Perhaps Lord Hades will not scold me if he cannot see me.”

“I could… guide you around?” You cringe internally at the crack in your voice and the _sheer audacity_ of your offer, but it slips out before you can hold your tongue. “I… sure, the forest shifts a lot. That’s sort of my fault -- and uh, Aunt Demeter’s -- and Pan’s -- but it’s not just you who’s constantly confused -- “

Nyx chuckles quietly. “I may hold you to that, little huntress. But for now, I have dallied for too long. I must depart.”

You hope she can’t see the sudden flush in your cheeks. 

“Farewell, Lady Artemis. Thank you for the pleasant night. Darkness guide thee.”

Nyx turns to you and leans forward, and when the darkness envelops your vision you feel a gentle kiss upon your forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> nyx: [has a minor existential crisis]  
> artemis: wow relatable queen. anyway are you single.
> 
> \- forehead kisses? in front of my spring? it's more likely than you think.  
> \- yes this is the same spring from my meg/aphro fics. it's the WLW trademarked spring.  
> \- think this is the 69th f/f fic (nice) in the hades tag? there's that troll one with a million tags and fandoms so maybe it doesn't count. who knows. (UPDATE: troll fic got deleted so no longer the 69th fic. f in the chat y’all.)  
> \- artemis: who hasnt had gay thoughts before  
> \- supergiant show us the forbidden wlw. amen.


End file.
